thirty-two things i’ve learned about being a mama.

Posted on April 6, 2015 by johnny and ginger

Last week I turned thirty-two. So I figured, why not share a list of thirty-two things I have learned about being a mama? Naturally this post is fashionably late because some tiny people demanded every second of my attention and every ounce of my energy over the weekend and I had to write this list in between preparing snacks and wiping butts and building Lego sets and refereeing wrestling matches. They are so lucky they have dimples.

Thirty two things I have learned about being a mama.

Childbirth is painful. Babies are worth it.
Recovering from childbirth is NOTHING like they show on tv. It is messy and painful and exhausting and there is no mascara involved. Hollywood needs to stop the lies.
It is completely normal to drive away from the hospital, or birthing center, or exit the birthing tub in your living room, with your newborn and be in literal shock that they handed you a tiny person and let you keep it. I mean what do you know about being responsible for an entire human being? Don’t worry. We’ve all been there. And our kids are just fine.
Yoga pants are always an option.
Simplicity is underrated.
There will always be a catastrophe the second you try to shower or nap or poop.
It’s not a TRUE catastrophe unless someone is bleeding.
Listening to your kids is not the same thing as really hearing them.
Embrace the minivan.
Comparison has the power to destroy me. And you. Fight it. Hard.
Target is out to steal all of our money and also to cause enormous embarrassing tantrum scenes in the Lego aisle. To avoid the tantrum, run past the toy aisles while covering your kids eyes. People will stare, but who the heck cares? You are winning at life.
Busy is not better. In fact it’s way worse.
Sugar is the enemy. The beautiful, delicious enemy out to destroy attitudes and teeth and bedtime.
Playing with your kids is never a waste of time. Even though your weapon sound effects are embarrassing and your super hero voices are laughable. All your kids notice is that you are there. With them. Doing something they love.
Jesus loves you. Even when your patience is short and your voice is sharp. Even when you’re locked in the bathroom hiding from your hurricane of a toddler and reminding yourself to breathe. And even when you’re tucked tight in bed bingeing on Friends and anything chocolate you can find.
Take the time to put yourself in your kids shoes. It will change how you parent. And teach them how lovely empathy is.
Other mamas are not the enemy. In fact we’re on the same team. Act like it.
Kids wake up earlier on the weekends. Netflix is your friend. Before you leave an opinionated comment about screen time, please reread number seventeen.
You will always be five minutes late, no matter how many empty threats or weak bribes you throw at your kids, they just won’t stop taking time to enjoy every tiny stick and bug and spider they see. Maybe you need to take a lesson from them on enjoying the little things. Also you should probably leave ten minutes earlier.
Notice the wonderful in your kids more than you notice the naughty. Then take the time to tell them.
Assume the best of your kids. Of other kids. Of other parents. Of yourself.
Prayer is powerful.
It truly does take a village. Ask for help. Offer help. We are so much stronger together.
You will never take sleep for granted ever again. Or having more than four inches of your own bed to sleep on. Or privacy. Or peace and quiet. Or your waistline. Or peeing alone.
Whining is mama kryptonite. If our kids ever find out they will officially win.
Selective hearing is the super power every child is born with. They perfect their skills at a very young age. Be vigilant.
Dance parties can instantaneously fix almost any problem.
Grace is a gift. Give it. Receive it. Live in it.
Poop jokes bring kids endless amounts of joy. If you tell a poop joke you are automatically the coolest parent. Ever.
Trust yourself. You have totally got this.
Live a life worthy of your kids imitation. Let them see you make mistakes. Hear you ask for forgiveness. Watch you pray, read, serve, laugh and love deep. Oh, and being silly. Definitely let them see you being silly.
Your kids are not perfect. You are not perfect. But you are perfect for each other.

(No) Miracle On 34th Street

Posted on December 25, 2013 by johnny and ginger

Several months ago, long before we knew we would be temporarily moving back to New York, we dreamed about spending Christmas in New York City.

Escape the Florida heat. Stroll around the city as fluffy snowflakes landed on our noses. Watch our kids exclaim over the lavish Christmas decorations adorning the city we love. Dance across the giant piano at FAO Schwartz with an oversized grin because my life, and my family, are just so wonderful.

It was a lovely thing to dream about.

Then we found out we would be in New York for several months, including the holiday season. My hopes began to rise. Friends of friends offered for us to house sit for them and in exchange for feeding their cat twice a day, our Christmas dream would become reality.

Perfection.

As Christmas approached we planned and talked and researched the best way to spend our time. There were lists and budgets and anticipation. Two days before Christmas Eve we told Ezra that we would be going to the city and that our first stop would be Santaland.

At Macy’s.

In Herald Square.

The largest department store.

In the world.

Because we are insane.

But when his eyes doubled in size, and his jaw dropped, and he literally blushed and had to hide his face in his hands while he did a little jig, I knew this was the best idea I’d ever had.

Enter Christmas Eve.

The morning of Christmas Eve I was greeted by two of the grumpiest kids I’ve ever met. While I tried to simultaneously shower, pack, prep breakfast and hold my pants up while the cranky two-year old tried to pull them down, my husband packed the car full of the ridiculous amount of luggage and gifts and groceries I told him had to go. Because I bought more groceries than normal and told him it was so we could pack lunches and dinners and not have to spend money on expensive city food. He would thank me later, I promised.

We finally walked out the door and as it locked behind us I smelled the poop. Sent my husband back inside to change Hudson and I took Ezra to the car. Running to the car, so excited to be heading to Santaland, he tripped and slid on the concrete. His hand skinned open, I yelled to Johnny, who was locking the door for a second time, to grab band aids and neosporin.

Five minutes later we were finally on our way.

Traffic was light and we arrived without incident at our friends house in Harlem to pick up our key and to meet their newborn son.

Hudson proceeded to show them every single thing in their house that will need to be child proofed and for his grand finale he pulled a mountain bike over, onto his face, and proceeded to cry hysterically, hyperventilate and nearly pass out. We decided it was time to leave.

We arrived at the Subway station and were immediately THAT obnoxious family. You know the one. There’s a massive crowd of people and the one family carrying their enormous stroller, complete with child inside, down the stairs, creating a great big bottleneck.

Merry Christmas Harlem!

We got to the ticket counter and two seconds later Ezra was jumping up and down, holding himself, gritting his teeth, and yelling, “I have to go pee! SO BAD!!!”

Of course you do.

Johnny took him back to our friend’s apartment to use the toilet, and we taught them yet another valuable parenting lesson. (You’re welcome guys.)

Two trains, and approximately six staircase bottlenecks, later, we laid eyes on Herald Square. I wish I could say how much I enjoyed the sight, but in reality I was too focused on not clipping anyone’s ankles with the stroller and making it to Macy’s before the Santaland line closed. In fifteen minutes.

We rushed past the gorgeous window displays and the shady, fake Santa Claus trying to get people to take photos with him for tips, and in the Macy’s doors. So close!

I don’t have adequate words to describe the chaos that is Macy’s on Christmas Eve. Chaos is actually the only word that comes to mind. I found an employee as quickly as possible and was pointed towards the elevators. Eighth floor here we come. The internet said seventh but I took the employee at his word.

Eighth floor.

Nothing.

I knew it.

Annoyed at the cheerful employee who led us on a wild goose chase, we got on the elevator again. This one only stopped at even floors so we returned to the main floor and waited for an elevator that visits all the floors.

The Santa line closes in five minutes. Stress.

We finally got on the elevator and a helpful employee heard where we were going and said we actually want the eighth floor. What?! We were just there. He assured me Santaland is on the eighth floor. I silently apologized to the previous helpful employee as we disembarked.

We found Santaland this time, right there on the eighth floor as promised. As we approached the sign, two minutes shy of four o’clock, a cheerily dressed employee bellowed, “The line to see Santa starts here! The wait is THREE AND A HALF HOURS!! No I am not joking but I do know some good jokes if you want to hear them.”

Three and a half hours? I could fly from New York to Orlando in less time than it would take to see Jolly Old Saint Nick. I was totally prepared for a wait, I even brought snacks. But in all of my internet research, an hour and a half was the longest I had read. There’s no way we’re staying.

But my boys. Oh my sweet, excited boys.

I approached the joke telling employee, and her less amusing, suit wearing, coworker.

“Is there any way to see Santaland and not actually wait in line to see Santa? Even a peek?”

Man in suit didn’t miss a beat. “No.”

“Not even some of the decorations?”

Man in suit, “For that I would direct you to the ninth floor. Holiday Lane is there.”

“Oh.”

Man in suit, “But ma’am, if you step off this line you will not be able to get back in line later.”

“Fantastic.”

I headed towards my babies, wondering to myself if there was really a toddler in the world who could wait in line for three and a half hours for ANYTHING without a total meltdown. Maybe that two-year old exists. But I seriously doubt it.

I explained to the boys that we wouldn’t be able to see Santa but that we were going to see some really wonderful Christmas decorations. Ezra’s face fell but he was more brave than I had imagined. I was the one holding back tears as I watched his sad eyes and remembered his excited jig just days earlier.

We made it to the ninth floor. Holiday Lane turned out to be another name for Buy Your Boxes Of Ornaments Here Lane. We left.

As we bundled up to head back into the cold, I remembered the shady Santa outside. Somehow he didn’t seem so creepy anymore. I tried to take Ezra over to meet him, but he dug his heels in and wouldn’t budge. I honestly couldn’t blame the kid.

Six more staircase bottlenecks.

Two trains.

One elderly woman befriended by Hudson who jabbered her ear off for five stops.

One older gentleman playing Christmas carols on the accordion.

Two grapes rolling the length of the subway car.

Several loud screams of, “Oh no! Oh no! My gwapes!”

And we were back in Harlem.

We picked up the car, the kids screamed for five minutes and both fell promptly asleep. As we pulled up to our home for the week, we just sat in the quiet. Neither of us moved. We needed a break.

We finally unloaded, and entered the apartment. A cozy home, complete with a sweet cat and more knick knacks than I could count. Uh oh. We tried to stay one step ahead of Hudson as he explored his new dwelling, all while unpacking and settling in. That is until Johnny had to sit in the hallway, weak, realizing he’d hardly had anything to eat or drink all day. While he regained his composure, I navigated a tantrum, a broken Christmas ornament, repeated attempts at biting each other, and tried in vain to use my patient voice.

We rallied, with bedtime as our goal.

We fed the kids, they invaded the personal space of the wonderfully patient cat, and Johnny ran to the store for things I had left at home. So much for careful planning. While he was gone, Hudson slipped and landed on his face. He came up with a mouth full of blood, once again hyperventilating. Once I got him to breathe, and realized the blood was from a tongue bite and nothing more serious, I hid in kitchen and it was my turn to cry.

This was supposed to be fun.

I am not having fun.

My daydreams were so much prettier.

I just want to curl up in a ball.

Not because I think my life is supposed to be perfect or easy.

But because when stress overwhelm, loneliness, fear and self-pity threaten and I become my least favorite version of myself.

And there’s the lesson to be learned.

Or relearned.

We were never meant to carry this load alone. We are not only supposed to share the pretty parts of us. Whether it be something as trivial as a stressful day in New York City with kids, or the deep heartache of a life altering hurt, we were designed to need God and each other.

On Christmas Eve I needed God to grant me peace and grace and, assure me that I am indeed strong enough to mother two very spirited young men. I needed him to acknowledge my heart ache and to remind me that nothing is too trivial for him to concern himself with.

And when my husband came home I needed him to stand with me in the kitchen while I made a late dinner. I needed him to crack jokes and hug me and remind me that two and four is a tough combination but that we’re in this together. And that they are so very worth it.

Those simple moments.

Moments spent pursuing intimacy with God, with my husband, with my boys.

Moments that bring peace and perspective, and return me to the beauty of life.

In those moments I am reminded why Jesus came to this earth so long ago. It was to pursue us, to serve us, to save us, to show how deeply he loved us by dying for us. Not just the pretty parts of us. All of us.

That is the pursuit of intimacy at its finest.

The Son of God desires intimacy with me. With you. And in that intimacy we can find the strength to endure the rain showers and the thunderstorms of this life. And perhaps even dance in the rain.

That is joy.

That is beauty.

We didn’t get to sit with Santa, but tonight, an old truth rings new in my ears. So I guess we got our miracle after all.

Oh holy night. Indeed.

The Sick Donkey Noise and Frozen Corn.

Posted on June 6, 2013 by johnny and ginger

I have no food in the house.

It’s three o’clock in the afternoon and I don’t think any of us have eaten lunch. We did eat eggs and toast (well the boys ate toast. I have yet to find a gluten free bread that I can swallow without gagging. I think I’ll try and bake one myself…) at more of a brunch time so I suppose we’ll make it till dinner with a little snack.

Except I don’t have any snacks left.

Better have Husband pick something up on the way home.

It’s a rainy, dreary week outside and we’re all going a little stir crazy.

The little squish has figured out how (or been taught by his hero, and older brother, Captain Ezra) to climb onto my favorite dark teal green armchair, the one I found on Craigslist and dragged Husband all over Orlando the week we moved here to try to find the owner’s house, and it nearly didn’t fit into the car, but that’s another story for another day… so they climb onto the chair, hold their arms out to the side like wings, and free fall, face first, onto the mattress that Captain Ez sleeps on. Well, he sleeps there when he’s not climbing into my bed and sleeping with his feet in my face. When that happens, Husband sleeps on the mattress on the floor, under the pirate comforter. Much to his chagrin.

The problem is that Captain Ez is almost four years old, he has refined his falling technique. The little squish is not as refined in his falling skills. He wobbles, one foot on the seat, one foot on the arm of the chair, and he looks at me for approval while he falls blindly, usually ending up on the mattress, sometimes the floor next to the mattress, in a position that looks as if he will require medical attention. He’s usually fine, giggling hysterically at his incredible talent, and probably also at the new gray hairs that spontaneously pop up on my head every day, and does it again. And again. And again.

This was right after a face plant on the ground, with some help from his big brother. He’s okay now, and jumping again.

It’s cute to talk about, but the reality is that I cannot get anything done while this child is awake. I turn my back and he is playing inside of the dryer. I make eggs and he has somehow retrieved a handful of butter knives from the silverware drawer (note to self: install better child locks). He thinks that couches are mountains to be climbed and that their summit is to be jumped from. The other morning, Husband let me sleep in. I staggered into the living room, still groggy, to his cheerful, “Good morning. Hudson ate his own poop.” Fantastic. While trying to cook he usually entertains himself by bowling with potatoes and onions. He likes to pick up babies, which turns into more of a tackle and then a barrel roll, with said baby in his arms, since he is not as strong as he thinks. He has quite an impressive throwing arm, unfortunately he thinks that most things were invented just to be thrown. Oh and while he does all of these thinks, he squints his eyes, looks at you sideways, and smirks. I swear it’s true.

Mischief is this child’s middle name.

But oh my word, those blue eyes and those blonde curls and his sweet, sticky, fingers wrapped around your neck in the tightest embrace. How can he be so wonderful and so exhausting all at the same time? How can I not get enough of him but also cringe just a little when nap time is over? How can I dream of the day when this tornado child stage is over, but also not want him to ever outgrow his irresistible troublemaking?

And then there is his role model, the famous Captain Ezra. He’ll be four this summer. FOUR! And, much like his brother, I adore every single hair on his head, his preschool humor has me rolling on the floor in hysterics, and his imagination routinely takes me back to the magic of my own childhood.

But the whining! Oh the whining! Not to mention the selective hearing!

Throw in the tantrums and I’m helpless.

It started a few months back, we like to call it The Sick Donkey Noise. Not a very creative name, but it should give you a pretty good idea what his favorite whining noise sounds like. To get a better understanding, make some donkey noises. Go ahead. Do it right now. As loud as possible. Now keep making those noises but also groan like you have a horrible stomach ache as well. Now morph those two noises together. Excruciating right? Now imagine hearing this noise A LOT. Like A LOT A LOT. Like every day, dozens of times each day. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. It’s become his go to response, for everything. He doesn’t ask, “Mom, can I please have some milk?” He starts making his Sick Donkey Noise and then in between groans he whines, with every bit of whine he can muster, “MILK!!!” So it goes something like this…

The Sick Donkey Noise, MILK!!! The Sick Donkey Noise, MILK!!! The Sick Donkey Noise, MILK!!!, The Sick Donkey Noise, MILK!!! The Sick Donkey Noise, MILK!!!

and on… and on…

Now before you question my parenting techniques. I do not get him what he’s asking for when he’s whining like this, I speak with him, I make him ask me the polite and appropriate way, which he does immediately, proving that he KNOWS how to ask, he just has some weird habit of speaking like an animal when he wants something. The best part of it is that his little brother, who wants to be exactly like his big brother, routinely goes over to wherever The Sick Donkey Noise is coming from, observes and then assumes the same body position as his big brother, and begins making the same, horrible, noises as his big brother.

The Sick Donkey Noise. Times two.

Oy vey.

Now, I don’t like to complain. And the reality is that when this happens I can usually be found turning my head away to hide my laughter because the situation is highly comical. Most of the time. But then there are the days when I have cleaned up potatoes and onions off the floor too many times, I have rescued my 19 month old from six precarious situations, I have gotten zero things accomplished from my very important to-do list in my head, and I am still wearing my pajamas at dinner time, and I get a tiny bit cranky.

And then, before I can stop it, out it comes.

We all have one, we know what it sounds like, but we can’t always stop it.

My ugly voice.

Ezra hangs on my back while I’m changing Hudson’s diaper and instead of asking him politely to get off my back while I change the baby, and tell him that we can cuddle in a minute, I snap at him to get off right now!

Ugh.

Or Hudson, deceivingly agile and strong at his mere 19 months old, climbs the sofa and begins hitting the television screen with a dinosaur, or toy hammer, or his hand, and instead of walking over to him and distracting him with another activity, I yell his name from across the room, louder each time, until he stops. It’s rarely effective, and it’s always bad parenting.

Sometimes I get stuck in an ugly voice funk. It can last days, embarrassingly even weeks. I hear myself when I talk to my kids, I feel the sharp edges, I see their hurt eyes, I observe them using the same tones when they get frustrated, then I tell them it’s not okay to talk that way.

Then I see it.

I see them emulating what they hear.

And I feel so gross.

I think we’ve all been there as parents. Or as anyone who ever took out their frustration on someone they love. It’s a strange phenomenon, that tendency to put our best selves on for strangers and acquaintances, yet with those we love, those we hold the most dear, when stress overwhelms we let our words carry a sharpness, our tone far from loving.

Ezra asked me the other night, “Mommy, why are you being so mean today?”

Oh my heart.

I felt like looking in his eyes and using the old break up line…

Don’t worry. It’s not you. It’s me.

What a cop-out. In any scenario. You are causing pain to someone you love and then telling them they shouldn’t be upset because it isn’t their fault. So what? All that matters is that they’re hurting, no matter whose fault it is.

What if Jesus was stressed out and overwhelmed by all of the problems he deals with on a daily basis? The real problems. World hunger. Orphans. A hurting world. People rejecting him. Broken families. And on and on. The burdens that our Jesus carries every day are far heavier than any stress or mild frustration or even personal crisis that I have ever had to deal with. He has every excuse in the world (literally) to lash out, groan at me in frustration, or use his ugly voice to reprimand me.

Yet he never has.
Not once.

Deep breath.
I can do better.
I must do better.
My babies deserve better.
Their future babies deserve for them to be taught better.
The creator of love demands that I am better.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:34-35

This is my heart’s desire, anyone who knows me even a little bit knows that to be true. But the truth is, I can love better, I think we can all love better. And I believe that love will change the world. And it will start right here at home.

Oh and I found a snack. We’re all eating frozen corn out of the bag that I was using as an ice pack for Ezra’s head after he took a dive and knocked it pretty hard. Medicinal AND nutritious (well not actually that nutritious…), multi tasking at it’s finest.

I love them.

And the best part is that they love me too.

The Perfect Mom Society

Posted on November 28, 2012 by johnny and ginger

Today I felt like a bad mom.

I know I’m not, and I reminded myself of that. Several times.

I still felt like a bad mom.

Most days I know that the mom I want to be, that I dream of being in my head, the one who looks so good on paper, the one who puts on real clothes every morning, and even wears make up, the one who keeps up with the laundry and the dishes and also bakes and prepares nutritious meals, the one who always speaks patiently with her children and does a million crafts and projects and other educational activities all day, all without getting frustrated or flustered, all without reaching total exhaustion, the one who never resorts to sticking her kids in front of the tv just to get a few minutes of peace and quiet, the one who smiles all day because she is so darn good at being mom… she is a fake.

She can’t exist in real life.

But sometimes I am fooled into thinking that she does exist.

She is the mom I see at Target with the four well-behaved children in matching outfits. There’s no way that her children would ever scream no in her face and then go do the exact opposite of what she just asked.

She is the mom I see at church with her children sitting in the row next to her calmly and quietly coloring and not making a scene. Her child would never walk into a crowded service from their classroom and scream at the top of their lungs, “Mommy! I have to go pee!!!” (Yes. That really happened.)

She is the mom I see on Facebook or Instagram who always wears the cutest clothes and who has the most perfect, beautiful children who all play instruments and never eat processed foods. Her kitchen could never have a giant stack of day old dishes waiting to be washed.

I see these moms and I assume that while I feel as if I’m unraveling at the ends, they are all part of some secret perfect mom society with an awesome secret handshake and I will never be allowed in the door.

Then I force myself back to reality and remind myself that what I see of other moms in public, or on social networks, is usually the best of the best. Let’s face it, we all want to be as cool and calm and collected as possible in front of other people, we usually share our proudest moments not our most humiliating moments on facebook and instagram, and who wants to tweet about their huge parenting fails anyway? And it’s not a bad thing. I don’t think people are being superficial, or trying to hide anything, it is completely natural to share the good moments with people, but today as I thought on that I realized that just like a little girl looking in a magazine and comparing herself to the photoshopped image of a super model and finding herself coming up short, if I don’t remember to keep my interactions with other moms in perspective, I can easily find myself comparing and coming up short.

So I decided to let all of that go. I have amazing mama friends in my life. Some I see regularly, some I see not often enough and some dear wonderful friends of mine I have never even met in person, thanks to the wonder of the internet, and social networks. I am so thankful for these women and for the love and encouragement they bring into my life. And I know that they are all as real as they come. With strengths and weaknesses and if I spend any time comparing myself to them then I am spending less time just loving them and building friendships with them and that is what I truly desire!

Then I took a long hard look at myself and decided to treat myself with grace and dignity. Being a mom is hard work. I used to be in charge of 50 people on a daily basis and thinking back to those days is like going on vacation. Moms do not get enough credit. And I realized something. SOMETIMES I do things that I regret or am frustrated at myself for or wish I could take back, but there are also things that I ALWAYS do and those are the things that really matter in the end.

For instance, the following only happened once but it wasn’t my proudest moment …

One time, husband and I were leading a missions trip team in London, England. It was Christmas Eve and we had been busy with ministry all day. We got back to the church we were sleeping at and I discovered that baby Ezra was poopy. I was also out of diapers. Also, every single business establishment in London seems to shut down on Christmas Eve. So after searching for anything to substitute as a diaper and coming up short, I ended up scraping the poo out of the diaper, lining the inside with toilet paper, and putting the dirty diaper back onto my child. After buying fresh diapers the following morning I found a stray diaper in my suitcase that I had missed the evening before. Not my brightest parenting moment.

And sometimes…

Sometimes after a long day at home with the boys, I am exhausted and so easily frustrated, and I use an ugly voice when talking to my boys. On more than one occasion, Ezra has looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, “Don’t yell at me mommy.” And my heart breaks.

Sometimes my kids spend the entire day in their pajamas.

Sometimes I let my kids watch way too many shows in a day because I don’t have the energy to come up with something else to do.

Sometimes, when Ezra takes a nap, he isn’t tired at bed time and instead of forcing him to go to sleep we watch movies together until midnight.

Sometimes, my kids snack all day because they refuse to eat anything of nutritional value and I don’t know how to make them.

These things, and many other things that I’m not overly proud of, happen SOMETIMES.

I thought about these things today. I thought about how I didn’t really like these things about myself. Then I thought about how stupid it was for me to feel like a bad mom because of the things that I do sometimes, when there are a lot of things that I ALWAYS do no matter how tired I am or how long of a day it has been.

I always make time for kissing and cuddles.

I always respond to my kids when they talk to me, I don’t ever ignore them or make them feel like what they have to say is unimportant.

I always look my kids in the eye.

I always tell my boys how wonderful and smart and creative they are.

I always say I love you.

I always say I’m sorry when I’ve raised my voice or spoken in an unkind way.

I always put their needs above my own.

I always pray for them at bedtime (and a million other times throughout the day).

I always do the very best that I can to be the best mom possible. Not the perfect mom. Just the very best one that I can possibly be for them, and when I disappoint myself I get up and keep going because what my kids need is not a mom who mopes around feeling like a bad mom. They need a mom who did everything she possibly could and who also gave herself a break and showed herself some grace when she needed it.

Today I learned that I need to learn from (sometimes laugh at) and let go of the things that happen SOMETIMES and focus on the things that ALWAYS happen. As long as those things keep happening, then I think we’ll be alright.

And I’ll have a lot more peace.

I can still be a mom who loves her kids, who loves to bake, who can spend hours crocheting, who come up with silly projects and fun games and loves to go on adventures, but I can also remind myself that no one is able to do those things, and keep a meticulous house and have perfectly groomed children, all day every day and not reach exhaustion and need some time for herself.

I am human.

I am a mom.

And I love my job.

Some days my kids won’t wear pants, they’ll eat cookies for breakfast and they might watch one too many episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba…

But they will ALWAYS be deeply and fiercely loved.

And in the end… nothing else matters.

Now it’s your turn, my readers! If you are willing to share a SOMETIMES story, maybe a silly little mom blooper that you can laugh at now, and an ALWAYS story, a ritual or a tradition that your family shares that showcases your love, I would absolutely love to hear them! You can share on here, or if you are on FB or Instagram, feel free to share there! I think it is so healthy for us as moms to share in each others triumphs and to also laugh with each other at the things that often don’t go according to plan along this parenting journey.

Then we can all come up with a secret handshake for the Real Life Mom Society and anyone who wants to come is welcome. Sweat pants or yoga pants and hair in a pony tail will be our uniform and chocolate cake will be served at every meeting.

Lots of love to all of you mamas out there tonight.

You are truly incredible.

Kelsey

my beauty hunt.

Posted on September 8, 2012 by johnny and ginger

The past four years have been the hardest and most painful years of my life.
The past four years have also been the most beautiful years of my life.
All too often I focus on the hard parts, I dwell on the pain.

I forget to count my blessings.

Which is a shame because there are so many to count.

Today, after deleting a blog post that read more like a pity party, I decided to go on a beauty hunt.

I have severe adrenal fatigue syndrome, and this causes countless physical symptoms, as well as causing my anxiety (which is a lifelong struggle) to worsen. Some days I am on the couch all day, plagued by dizziness, and weakness so severe that I fear my legs will not carry me to the bathroom and back. On the worst of these days I often find myself overwhelmed by feelings of frustration with myself for not being stronger, hopelessness that I will ever again be healthy, embarrassment that I cannot do things that most moms take for granted, and the list goes on. Often I find myself in tears at some point throughout the day, and without fail my sweet, compassionate, Ezra notices and says, “Are you crying, mommy? Are you really sick? Don’t worry mommy, kisses will make you better!” And my sweet boy runs to me, in all of my ugly, and showers me with kisses that he truly believes will heal. And they do.

{beautiful child}

Most days, in our household, are considered a success if I am able to take care of the kids, get some sort of food on the table, and still be functioning when Johnny gets home from work. On a million different occasions I have watched my amazing husband come home from work, exhausted, and proceed to finish (or start) dinner, feed our family, straighten up the house, do multiple loads of laundry, bathe the kids, and somehow still stay in love with me. He does this tirelessly, without complaining, and I know that he truly does not resent me, or my health issues, or wish that he was somewhere else. He is a man who I could not have even dreamed of, a man full of character and integrity and strength and fierce love and devotion for his family that leaves me speechless.

{beautiful husband}

I care far too much what people think of me, and of our situation. God must think I’m ridiculous, but he is still so gentle with me. Placing people in my life that I cannot begin to deserve, relationships that go above and beyond the call of duty and then some, to love me, love my family, and take care of us in whatever way they can, no matter how near or far they may be, and in these relationships, I know there is never judgement, just pure, deep love. And the people who love me so well, always remind me that no matter how hard the battle, that the alive, vibrant Kelsey is still who I am, that she isn’t gone, she may be struggling, but she will never be lost. This is one of the sweetest gifts.

{beautiful relationships}

I used to fill my days with as much as I possibly could. I prided myself on my ability to do it all and I judged myself more harshly than anyone when I didn’t live up to my standards. The past four years have forced me to not just slow down, but almost stop completely. In some ways my life is so much simpler that it once was and something that would seem like a minor detail to another mama is a huge accomplishment for me. Sitting with Ezra and doing puzzles for a half hour, or helping him build a fort, or creating a robot costume, or helping Hudson “walk” down the hallway, or playing peek a boo and listening to his hysterical laughter and watching him crinkle his nose, these are my major life accomplishments now. There are days when even these tasks are too much, so when I do have the energy to engage in even these simple moments of life, I don’t ever take one single second for granted.

{beautiful simple moments}

I love being a mom. One of the things that I have loved the most is breastfeeding my babies. However, it has become apparent over the past several months that continuing to breastfeed may no longer be in my best interest as my body is tired and for my doctors to increase my treatments I can no longer be breastfeeding. My mama’s heart is breaking. I am able to do so little already as a mama, but breastfeeding is the one thing that I have always been able to do for my boys. And now, that too is being taken away. I have cried countless tears over this decision, it’s the one thing I never thought I would have to compromise on. However, as I move forward and begin this process, I feel like God is continually offering comfort by reminding me that doing this will make me a stronger, better mama. It will not harm my boys and it will not change the bond that we share.

{beautiful comfort}

I am not good at asking for help. I like to be the one helping others. However our current life situation makes us about 0% helpful to others and 100% dependent on the help of others. Something I find humbling, to say the least. Whether we’re calling my mom and my sister AGAIN for help with the boys or a ride to a doctor’s appointment, or Johnny is once again letting work know that he will be late or not there at all because I need him, or asking supporters for help because we cannot afford all of the doctors bills, or I’m sitting on my in-laws couch and they are selflessly entertaining my children so that I can conserve what little energy I have, or we’re asking friends to FLY from California to Colorado just to help me with the boys during my brothers wedding because my whole family has a role to play in the wedding and I cannot manage the entire day by myself with the boys, or begging once again for desperate prayers on our behalf, whatever it may be, I STRUGGLE to ask, and I STRUGGLE to receive that help. And once again God must find me so frustrating, but he gently remind me that I need to humble myself and allow people to help us, to sustain us, to love us, and know that even if we cannot ever repay them for their generosity that it is okay because they don’t expect us to anyways. What a difficult lesson, and what a change it has made in my heart.

{beautiful humility}

I think we can all have a tendency to look at a situation and cast judgement, even though it is not our place or our right to do. I know that I have been guilty of this. But through this process I have learned in an entirely new way, how impossible it is to understand someone else’s situation unless you have lived it yourself. Whether a family is dealing with chronic illness, or loss of a loved one, or loss of a job, or financial difficulties, or substance abuse or addiction, or divorce, or the list goes on and on…but each situation is unique and delicate and we are so quick to judge instead of rushing to LOVE. I am forever changed by this journey of ours and I know that I will never again look at another persons situation and assume that I know better, or I know what they should do, or how they should handle something. That is not my place in anyone else’s life, my one and only obligation is to LOVE them and to support them in any and every way that I possibly can. This is an attribute that I don’t think I would have gained if it weren’t for this process, and it has forever changed who I am.

{beautiful understanding}

In this process I have spent many days avoiding God. Avoiding him because I feel slightly forgotten, a little betrayed, and very scared that he isn’t listening. Then I feel embarrassed because, of course I know better, and yet somehow I still find myself in self-preservation mode, assuming that I am the only one who knows what’s best for me (wrong again). But when I finally have chosen to be open and honest with my Jesus, when I have finally allowed him to gently take my broken heart from my tight grip, he is always so loving and so kind. Reminding me that he loves me, that I don’t need to understand everything to understand that, and reassuring me that he is always near, even when I feel like perhaps he has forgotten, and that he uses all things for HIS GLORY.

{beautiful truth}

If I am not careful I spend my days dreaming about when I am healed, planning for when I am better, and forgetting to live today. When you are functioning at a fraction of what you normally do and you can think only of the day when you are returned to your proper self, then it is difficult to learn how to live in this new reality. Quite often I get to the end of a day and realize that I have done nothing but wait for life to get better. So even on days when I feel 10% of my normal self, I still try desperately to find that hour, or that 20 minutes or even that five minutes of energy and health and to live it for all it’s worth. If I have five minutes of silly in me, I’m going to enjoy them for all they’re worth. If I have 30 minutes where I’m not thinking about how awful I feel and I have a little bit more energy, I’m going to be on the floor playing with my boys, if I have a day where my body is kind to me and I have extra energy, I am going to go to the park with my family and I might even pack a picnic dinner. And I am not going to live in fear of the next bad day, I am going to deal with it when it comes but I am going to live fully in this moment, without allowing the cloud of what could be to rain on my parade.

{beautiful life}

I had a moment with God the other day. I felt like he asked me if I would do it all again. If I knew the struggle, if I knew how sick my pregnancies would make me and how long it would take to heal, would I do it all again? Without a second of hesitation my answer was yes. I would go through it all again, and then some, to bring these beautiful amazing boys into the world, and to have the gift of being their mama.

But I realized something else.

On most days I feel like a hot mess. I’m usually in pajamas, paying zero attention to what I look like, and only occasionally bothering to put real clothes on my kids. My house is a disaster, in a lot of ways I am a shadow of who I used to be. But then, occasionally, I look at it from a different perspective.

I feel like God has spent the past four years literally stripping me of every single thing I found identity in.

Leadership. Ministry. Church involvement. Taking care of people. Being outgoing and social. Being a fantastic wife. Being super mom. Exercise. Independence. And on and on.

And now here I am.
Feeling naked and vulnerable.

And I hear a whisper, almost too faint to notice.
It says this is who I truly am.
It says this is the most beautiful I have ever been.

When the world looks at me I know there is not much to see.

When God looks at me he sees a heart that has been forever changed by a fierce battle.
He sees a heart that has been broken and put back together by his mercy and grace.
He sees a heart that finally understands her life is not her own, no matter how tightly she clings to in.
He sees a heart that has walked through the fire and come out stronger for it.
He sees a heart fully convinced of the power of prayer.
He sees a heart that doesn’t expect immediate healing but does expect immediate grace.
He sees a heart desperate to spread his love.
He sees a heart that would have never existed if it weren’t for the struggle.
He sees a heart that is thankful, not for the battle itself but for the person the battle has created.
He sees a heart acknowledging that if the only reason for this battle was to become more like Christ, then it all will have been worth it.
He sees a heart that is more devoted to him today that every other day in her life combined.

He sees a heart in love with him.

{beautiful heart}

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.” – Elisabeth Kübler Ross

“but god’s not here yet…”

Posted on July 30, 2012 by johnny and ginger

Few things bring me greater joy than watching my husband and my kids interact. Johnny is such a great daddy and he is able to play with the boys the way that boys are supposed to play. I try to play swords and pirates and power rangers but when I watch Johnny play with Ezra I see how lacking my “play like a boy” skills truly are. I won’t stop trying, but I really need to practice more.

A couple of evenings ago I was in the bedroom cleaning up after bath time. I don’t know about you, but after bath time at our house there is an ocean of water on the floor, clothes littered everywhere that seem to have multiplied somehow, and more wet towels than seem necessary for two small children. Anyway, I was cleaning up and I heard Ezra run out of his room gasping and exclaiming that he was scared in his room because there were monsters in there. I headed towards him to comfort him but Johnny had already dropped what he was doing and was kneeling on the floor in front of Ezra. I stopped in my doorway to listen to their conversation.

Daddy – “Ezra, there is no reason for you to be scared because monsters aren’t real. But even when we feel afraid of something God is always with us and he will protect us from anything scary.”

Ezra – “Okay daddy.”

So simple. So sweet. So quick to trust.

As I sat on the couch with Ezra a few minutes later, he looked at me and said, “Mommy, God will protect me from monsters and even from cactus monsters (apparently cactuses are scary).” I replied, “That’s right Ez.” His next comment caught me off guard…

“But God’s not here yet.”

I felt like I was searching for something to say in reply for about ten minutes, but in reality I think I replied right away with something along the lines of, “Oh Ezra, God is always here! We can’t see him, but he is alway right there next to you.” Or something else straight out of the Christianity for Beginners textbook. But in my mind, once again, the simplicity and innocence of something my son said had shaken me.

Ezra was talking about the fact that God was not physically present yet, that he couldn’t see him or touch him so he must not be there. But how often, as mature adults, many of us who have been Christians for years, do we walk through something difficult, perhaps even tragic, and we don’t feel God, or hear God, or we don’t understand how he could let something like this happen to us, so we ASSUME that “God’s not here yet”? We try to survive through the hardship the best we can, all the while not turning to the one who can truly make our burden light, because he didn’t show up in the way that WE expected him to so we don’t think he’s really there.

I know I have done this more times than I’d like to acknowledge. Especially in my lifelong battle with fear and anxiety, in the worst of days, when I should be on my knees at the feet of my heavenly father, crying out to him for healing and comfort, instead I have a tendency to doubt that he is really there, I doubt that he is really listening, and I doubt that he has any intention of ever healing me or making my burden any lighter.

Shame on me.

I know my God better than that, I know who he is and how he loves me, I know that if my heart breaks for my kids when they are sad that God’s heart breaks even more for me when I am struggling. But even after a lifetime of knowing and loving my God, when hardship comes, I still have the tendency to go into self preservation mode and assume that the only one with my best interest in mind is myself. And then I live in survival mode.

I survive. But I don’t thrive.

And just when I really and truly deserve to be given up on, God once again shows how deeply, how endlessly, and how unconditionally he loves me. He gently uses my son to remind me of the simple truth that God is always here.

Ugh, how many times must he so gently and so lovingly remind me that he will NEVER leave me and he will NEVER forsake me? How many times will I be reminded and then forget again? Hopefully it will stick this time but the beautiful thing about our Jesus is that he will remind me if I forget again. Just like I will remind Ezra a million times that he doesn’t need to be afraid of monsters, and if he forgets again and is frightened then I will remind him yet again, because I adore him and I want him to live free of fear, free of heavy burdens that he need not carry, I want him to thrive. And isn’t that what Jesus wants for each of us to?

Oh, I think I forgot to tell you the second part of Ezra’s comment to me, the part that made me realize how much more like my son I need to be. He said…

God’s not here yet… but I still love him SO SO SO much!”

Just because Ezra couldn’t see God in that moment, and he thought maybe he wasn’t there, he wasn’t doubting his God or his ability like I sometimes find myself doing, he was making a simple observation. He didn’t see God at that moment but that did not change how much he LOVED his God or how much he trusted that he would show up if indeed there were monsters that needed to be fought off.

What a wonderful child. What a wonderful God for speaking to me through such a wonderful child.

Today I am walking around with an old truth in my heart that I have been reminded of in the sweetest of ways.

There will be more days when I cannot feel God, it will seem that he is not “here yet”, but he is here, and he loves me even when I struggle to understand his ways. Oh, and even when I don’t feel him, I still love him… SO SO SO much.

So simple.

So true.

Thank you Jesus and Ezra for the reminder.

Maybe we won’t have to hide under blankets anymore. Maybe we will. But I will continually remind Ezra that he is safe from monsters, not because of the blanket but because of how much his Jesus loves him.

Cherish the moment.

Kelsey

Tears, Tantrums, and Breakdowns

Posted on July 28, 2012 by johnny and ginger

Today started out pretty well. Unless you consider the 5:30am wake up by Hudson the start of the day, then it didn’t actually start that well, but after I got another couple hours of sleep, thanks to my husband, I was feeling pretty good. I got up, put on a cute sundress, determined to hit up some garage sales before the heat of the day was too overwhelming. I walked into the living room and my Ezra gasped when he saw me, “Oh my! You look so pretty AND cool, mommy!”

See I knew it. Great day ahead.

However as I headed to the kitchen, I realized that perhaps not everyone in my family shared the same opinion about the day. The baby was crawling around on the floor, alternating between quiet whimpers and loud screeches that caused Ezra to cover his ears. I glanced at my husband and realized that the whimpering/screeching must have been going on for some time because he had clearly moved past the stage of trying to entertain or console the baby, and was neck deep in the stage where you try desperately to ignore the cries, and maintain some level of sanity so you don’t run from the house, screaming and drive away as fast as possible.

Uh oh.

Somehow we got the kids dressed and ready and into the car. There wasn’t much talking and the only way I could convince Ezra to leave the house was to tell him we were going out to look for treasure (he is in a serious pirate phase). He was ecstatic and I knew that I had only delayed the meltdown until the point when he realized that there was actually no buried treasure to be found today, but sometimes you do what you have to. As we loaded the car, I crossed my fingers that the baby would fall asleep like I thought he would and that he wouldn’t have a full blown scream fest instead.

All went well as we headed out, the baby did fall asleep and took a nice long nap and Ezra stayed mostly entertained with the idea of the treasure that awaited him. Unfortunately there were hardly any garage sales today, apparently people don’t like to sell things in 100 degree heat, and the garage sales that were happening consisted mostly of elderly women’s clothing, a lamp, and toys that you wouldn’t let your dog play with. And of course, no treasure. We did find one marble maze game that looked promising so we used that to distract Ezra from the idea of treasure and promised him he would have more fun than he could ever imagine with that toy.

As the baby started to wake up we headed for home, at which point Ezra had to pee… “RIGHT NOW MOMMY! IT’S AN EMERGENCY!” We sped to Starbucks to be the inconsiderate person who uses their bathroom but doesn’t buy anything, and then headed for home finally. About a mile from home Johnny started pumping our clutch and muttering to himself. “Our car is broken,” is the only thing I really remember him saying. Unable to put our car into gear, we somehow managed to coast to our apartment complex entrance and then we argued for a couple minutes about how to get the car to my mom’s parking spot (getting it all the way around the complex to our spot was not going to happen) and finally I steered and Johnny pushed and we rolled into mom’s spot.

Fantastic.

The rest of the afternoon was a conglomeration of a makeshift lunch since we didn’t get to the store like we had planned (who doesn’t eat rice a roni with their turkey sandwiches?), marble games that are too complicated to figure out, a cranky, teething, baby biting me (HARD) while nursing causing me to scream causing him to cry hysterically, and more moments that were not our brightest.

Things eventually calmed down, as they always do, and now Hudson is napping, Johnny is hiding in the bedroom watching the Olympics, and Ezra and I are cuddling on the couch watching The Cat In The Hat. As I sat here literally able to feel the stress of a day that was supposed to be relaxing and fun and summery, I had to laugh (quietly of course because I don’t think Johnny is ready to laugh about it yet.)

The reality is that today was really not as bad as we think it was. Yes, an inconsolable baby can drive even the strongest of men to tears. Yes, our car breaking down is an inconvenience, and we might have to have a garage sale of our own to pay for the repairs. Yes, life can feel overwhelming sometimes. Especially the past few months which have included a huge cross country move, starting over in a new state, and my health issues that have caused my husband to have to carry more of the load for our family than I would like to admit, he really is amazing and never complains, yet I know that the burden is heavy on his shoulders.

But…

Oh my word are we ridiculously, disgustingly, incredibly blessed.

We have two gorgeous, silly, healthy boys who quite literally are the best in the world.

I have an incredible husband who has selflessly served me and our boys for the last four years, life has not exactly been what we expected it to be but he has never once wavered in his love and devotion to us. He is an incredible example of a godly husband and father, and he is also very silly, which I appreciate. I also appreciate the picture below because Hudson’s face is truly incredible.

We have said for years that we wish we had grandparents near us, we want for our boys to grow up knowing their grandparents and lets be honest, people who WANT to babysit your kids can be a huge help in a pinch! 🙂 Johnny’s parents go out of their way to travel to wherever we are living in the world and visit us and the boys and they regularly Skype with us and make sure we know we are loved and thought about. And now that we’re living in Florida, my mom AND my sister are living a 30 second walk away. It’s been almost ten years since I have lived near my family and it brings more joy to my heart than I can express when my boys literally race each other to the door when Grandma or Auntie Bam walks in. Ezra usually wins for now, but once Hudson is walking I think it will be a close race. I mean let’s be honest, who has a cooler Grandma or Auntie that these two?

We have (in my opinion) the most wonderful friends and family that anyone could ever ask for. We get to spend our life working in ministry and seeing Jesus do amazing things. And even more importantly than the incredible things I have already talked about, we are the children of a beautiful God who loves us even more than I love my own children. Unfathomable. But true.

Today was a little rough, but it was a lot more wonderful than it was rough. I just needed to write it all down to remind myself how true that is. And I get to hang out with this handsome face everyday, life could be WAY worse!

Besides, who needs a car? Ezra would think riding a horse around town was way cooler anyway.

Reminding myself today to…

Cherish the moment.

❤ Kelsey

Today I Was A Pirate

Posted on July 28, 2012 by johnny and ginger

Today we made a robot costume out of boxes and tin foil and for a little while Ezra was EzBot2009.

Today, while sitting on the couch, I was attacked by the littlest red Power Ranger, and had to defend myself from his skilled combat moves.

Today we went to the park and the playground quickly morphed into a pirate ship and I was surrounded by “Ezra Matey” and “Daddy Matey”. People for blocks could hear, “Come on my ship Mommy Matey!!!”

Today we took Ezra’s garage sale treasure, a Lighting McQueen power wheels, out to our apartment complex’s tennis court and it immediately became The Piston Cup racetrack and Ezra was a race car driver.

Tonight I put my Ezra in bed and while he is fast asleep who knows how many more amazing things he will become and how many daring adventures he will go on.

I am daily astounded by his imagination, his creativity, his love for life, his desire for adventure, his willingness to try new things, his fearlessness, his excitement about a simple puppet show, or a box covered in tin foil, or a blanket fort, or an interesting leaf on the ground. Being a parent is about raising children, but I honestly believe that they teach us just as much.

My hope and prayer as I raise my boys is that I will help them grow and mature into men who love the Lord, who love people, and men who follow the calling placed on their life. But I also hope and pray that instead of focusing so much on them growing up “right” and always behaving in public, that I will choose to let them be kids. That I will choose to let them get dirty, be loud, act silly, laugh hard, create and imagine, dream, go on wild adventures, and that I will be right there next to them, covered in dirt, laughing hysterically, making a scene, not caring who sees me.

I take life way too seriously sometimes. Being an adult seems to do that to a lot of us.

If you find yourself stuck in that same place, grab a 2 or 3 year old {with their parents permission if they’re not your kid 🙂 } and spend a day doing whatever THEY can dream up. I promise you life will look a whole lot shinier at the end of the day.

Thank you Jesus for Ezra.

From Ugly to Giggly.

Posted on July 26, 2012 by johnny and ginger

I know that as parents we all have those days where we feel like we cannot do anything right, in fact any random person off the street could probably parent our children better.

Yesterday was one of those days for me.

I was exhausted, and my anxiety was winning, I felt weak and irritable and every little thing was frustrating me. Ezra just wanted to be a little boy and play but I was impatient and talked to him in a tone of voice that I swore I would never use with my kids. After one particularly ugly moment when I was telling him not to push his little brother over (which was a legitimate thing to ask him not to do, but I could have said it differently), he looked at me surprised and then his face broke and he dissolved into sobs.

Through his tears he said, “I’m stupid, Mommy.”

What? No!

Enter my ashamed and broken heart.

I scooped up my not so little boy and I held him and I whispered over and over again how much I love him and how good of a boy he is and I told him all of the wonderful things about him. How silly he is, how smart he is, how creative he is, how kind he is, how much I adore him.

Chances are that Ezra has pretty much forgotten that horrible moment, but I can safely say that I never will. And as embarrassing as it is to even put that memory into writing, I want to remember it because I know that I will never be perfect. I will have more ugly parenting moments, but I want to learn from each of them and I want to teach my kids that even their parents will mess up, but we will always apologize, we will always learn from our mistakes, and we will always do better next time.

When Ezra woke up this morning he looked at me and said, “You’re the best girl I’ve ever seen in my whole life, Mommy.” Then we sat in bed together and giggled while Lola licked us.

It seems that he has forgiven me. I guess I should forgive myself.

I hope that someday Ezra reads this blog, and reads about this moment and can look at me and say that I truly have kept my promise to always love, always cherish, always apologize, always learn, and always grow in this journey of parenting. It is not an easy journey, and every family’s road looks different, but be encouraged that your kids see the best in you and you should see the best in yourself as well. It will make you a better parent.

“They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.”
– Carol Buchner

Cherish the moment,
Kelsey

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